Still Here: A New Year’s Eve Reflection
Wed Dec 31 2025
A daily December series offering tender, truthful support for surviving the holidays after suicide loss — with grief, grace, & gentle company.
Get THE Leftover Pieces APP & don't miss anything!
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This is December 31 — Welcome, Fellow Griever
New Year’s Eve can be heavy for grievers — a reminder that time keeps moving, even when your heart resists.
Today’s I offer a quiet companionship with a longer reflection & an original New Year’s Eve poem, honoring survival and the love you carry forward as a year closes
Still Here — A Daily Journal Prompt
“As this year ends, what have I carried — what does that say about my love, my strength, or my becoming?”
Still Here — A New Year’s Eve Reflection (Poem)
This year did not end all at once.
Rather, it released us reluctantly —
sigh by ragged, echoing sigh,
through endless hours that asked more than we could sustain.
Tonight is not just a counting down.
It is the act of carrying on —
of bringing forward what love refuses to leave behind:
the moments, the names, the memories,
all that we survived,
and all that we still hold close.
Midnight does not soothe a bone-deep ache.
January does not undo what we desperately wish could be undone.
A calendar turning will never ready us —
it announces another year to walk in the after.
Let it arrive — tenderly,
without forcing your heart to keep pace
in this invisible, impossible race
of another year without them.
Love does not thin with the tendrils of time.
It does not fray or fade at the edges.
It deepens at its very roots,
learns new shapes,
finds new ways to grow inside us.
We are not leaving them in the before.
We are carrying them forward —
through our living, through our loving,
through our persistent, tender intention to keep going.
In our soul’s quiet recognition of theirs.
Somewhere between the old year and the new,
held in remembering, buoyed by hoping,
lives a quiet place —
not empty, not resolved — just opening.
And in this space,
we stand exactly as we are.
May this year meet you there.
Here.
Still here.
Broken, bruised, or mending —
maybe everything all at once, or somewhere in between —
trust that you are becoming.
Support the show
__________________________________________________________________________
Get THE Leftover Pieces APP & don't miss anything! CLICK HERE
💜 The Leftover Pieces is support central for grieving hearts.
🔗 Stay connected: Join my free email community for weekly check-ins, resources, and encouragement.
🌟 For moms: Explore the $9 Lighthouse Community — safe connection, tools, and hope.
🛠 Resources for all grievers: Start here.
🤝 One-on-one grief coaching for moms after child loss to suicide: Learn more here.
📞 Need help now? If you or someone you love is struggling with suicidal thoughts, dial 988 in the U.S. & Canada, or text HOME to 741741.
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A daily December series offering tender, truthful support for surviving the holidays after suicide loss — with grief, grace, & gentle company. Get THE Leftover Pieces APP & don't miss anything! 👉 The Leftover Pieces App This is December 31 — Welcome, Fellow Griever New Year’s Eve can be heavy for grievers — a reminder that time keeps moving, even when your heart resists. Today’s I offer a quiet companionship with a longer reflection & an original New Year’s Eve poem, honoring survival and the love you carry forward as a year closes Still Here — A Daily Journal Prompt “As this year ends, what have I carried — what does that say about my love, my strength, or my becoming?” Still Here — A New Year’s Eve Reflection (Poem) This year did not end all at once. Rather, it released us reluctantly — sigh by ragged, echoing sigh, through endless hours that asked more than we could sustain. Tonight is not just a counting down. It is the act of carrying on — of bringing forward what love refuses to leave behind: the moments, the names, the memories, all that we survived, and all that we still hold close. Midnight does not soothe a bone-deep ache. January does not undo what we desperately wish could be undone. A calendar turning will never ready us — it announces another year to walk in the after. Let it arrive — tenderly, without forcing your heart to keep pace in this invisible, impossible race of another year without them. Love does not thin with the tendrils of time. It does not fray or fade at the edges. It deepens at its very roots, learns new shapes, finds new ways to grow inside us. We are not leaving them in the before. We are carrying them forward — through our living, through our loving, through our persistent, tender intention to keep going. In our soul’s quiet recognition of theirs. Somewhere between the old year and the new, held in remembering, buoyed by hoping, lives a quiet place — not empty, not resolved — just opening. And in this space, we stand exactly as we are. May this year meet you there. Here. Still here. Broken, bruised, or mending — maybe everything all at once, or somewhere in between — trust that you are becoming. Support the show __________________________________________________________________________ Get THE Leftover Pieces APP & don't miss anything! CLICK HERE 💜 The Leftover Pieces is support central for grieving hearts. 🔗 Stay connected: Join my free email community for weekly check-ins, resources, and encouragement. 🌟 For moms: Explore the $9 Lighthouse Community — safe connection, tools, and hope. 🛠 Resources for all grievers: Start here. 🤝 One-on-one grief coaching for moms after child loss to suicide: Learn more here. 📞 Need help now? If you or someone you love is struggling with suicidal thoughts, dial 988 in the U.S. & Canada, or text HOME to 741741.